


We Come from the Land of the Ice and Snow

by beastofeden



Category: Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, BAMF! Charles, Crossover, Dark, F/M, Journalist! Erik, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Rape, Punk! Charles, Telepathy, Vigilante Justice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastofeden/pseuds/beastofeden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA The Telepath with the Phoenix Tattoo</p><p>Erik Lehnsherr is a disgraced journalist solving a forty-year-old murder. Charles Xavier is a damaged telepath with a troubled past and a brutal sense of morality. And a motorcycle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, well, this is rather strange and bleak. I'm not sure why my brain decided that this had to be written but...here we are. I will cite the freezing temperature in New York and days spent looking at photos of Rooney Mara and James McAvoy on tumblr.
> 
> It is possible that i have taken for granted that not everyone knows the story of 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo; and thus there may be some parts of the plot that aren't explained as fully as they would be to a "new" audience...so...sorry? Ask if you have questions or, you know, use the Interweb :)
> 
> This should be finished fairly soon.
> 
> Title comes form the Led Zeppelin song "Immigrant Song", which trent Reznor and Karen O covered for 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo'.

 

 

 _“Today marks the end of the highly publicized legal battle between international businessman William Stryker and journalist Erik Lehnsherr. Stryker filed suit against Lehnsherr after the reporter made what were proven in court to be false allegations of  kidnapping and mutant trafficking and experimentation against the billionaire. Rumors indicate that Lehnsherr may be stepping down from his position as Publisher of_ Mutant and Proud _, the magazine that he created six years ago with Editor-in-Chief Raven Darkholme._

 _While radical at the time of it’s inception,_ Mutant and Proud _has helped make huge strides in the direction of mutant equality, due in large part to the incisive and often brutal exposés of crimes against mutants, Lehnsherr’s longtime crusade. With this public slap in the face from Stryker, Lehnsherr will no doubt take some time to lick his wounds in solitude and save his magazine from the taint of his slander conviction. In a statement, Stryker said-”_

 

Erik clicked off the TV. He had no desire whatsoever to hear what Stryker had to say.

 

It had been bad enough to stand in court and feel Stryker’s eyes on him, to watch Stryker testify, his bemused smirk in place, as if Erik’s allegations were no more than a nuisance.

 

He briefly considered calling Raven over for a bit of non-platonic comfort, but remembered that Azazel was in town for the week and they’d be out at dinner or at home fucking. Raven’s husband was always off teleporting around the world and their unspoken rule was that when he was gone Erik could have Raven whenever he wished, but when he was in town Azazel always had first dibs. It was possible that Raven could talk Azazel into bending the rules, considering what Erik had been through today, but Erik would like to keep their arrangement easy and uncomplicated.

 

He thought about Raven’s skin, the feel of scales under his hands, the taste of her on his tongue. The way her entire body rippled as she shifted forms, the sensation caressing every inch of his bare skin. He slipped his hand into his trousers and began to stroke himself lazily. Raven, who was so assertive and demanding when it came to business, loved to be handled with care and reverence during sex, loved for him to take the lead. Sometimes he wished that she would challenge him as much in bed as she did at the office.

 

He kept touching himself, his mind moving on from Raven and revisiting other fond memories. The dancer with the wings who had wanted him fuck to her in midair, her wings flapping as he kept himself levitating with his powers. The blond boy who had looked every inch a high school jock, whose skin had been _burning_ to the touch and taste, even the tiny puckered hole that Erik had licked and sucked at. He stroked himself harder, faster, twisting the head of his cock roughly and came. It felt good but…anticlimactic.

 

With TV made unwatchable by the thought of seeing Stryker’s face and the internet out of the question for the same reason, Erik had nothing to do but ponder the extremely peculiar phone call he’d received earlier, almost the exact moment he’d stepped out of the courtroom today, the same time as the decision must have been hitting the news.

 

It was such an odd request, but Erik couldn’t help but be intrigued by the mystery surrounding it all. He had nothing to do for…quite some time. What would be the harm in going out the country for one day to indulge an old man’s request?

 

He was rather interested to meet the reclusive scion of the Maximoff Empire, after all.

 

*

 

Charles sat in his stuffy apartment, smoking cigarette after cigarette, a long-cooled cup of coffee on the table in front of him. He took another quick look through the photos on his laptop, trying to decide whether or not to delete them.

 

There were thousands of shots, the result of almost a week of tailing Lehnsherr. Some showed Lehnsherr at his office, some were of him on the steps of the courthouse or in nearby cafes getting coffee and reading newspapers. A few were taken from the roof of the building across from the Lehnsherr’s apartment and showed the journalist with his head between the thighs of a woman who was startlingly, beautifully blue – Raven Darkholme, Lehnsherr’s business partner. Charles was not ashamed to admit that he had spent some time looking at those particular photos with his cock in hand.

 

Then again, Charles was ashamed of very little.

 

Charles was stopped again by one photo that he could not seem to make sense of. It had been taken the same night as the previous one, after Darkholme had gone home to her husband (Charles had been confused by the dynamic at first, before he had completed the visual phase of his investigation and begun the more… _invasive_ aspect).

 

In the photograph, Lehnsherr was asleep and his face was completely relaxed. He was a totally different man, looking almost serene. Charles couldn’t understand why the peaceful expression tugged at him so.

 

He hesitated a moment before deleting the photos. There was little need for them, anyway, with his eidetic memory. One of the things that remained completely intact, thankfully.

 

Charles stood and crossed to the bathroom, only a few feet away in the shadowy, cramped apartment. He pissed and washed his hands, his gaze leveling to look into the mirror.

 

He decided he’d get another piercing, maybe his lip this time. He stuck out his tongue, wondering how a barbell would feel. He would need to shave his head again soon, the fuzz was starting to grow longer than he liked. He loved the shiny smoothness of his scalp after he had shaved, the way his blue eyes seemed all the more startling and strange without hair to distract attention. The aesthetic part of his hairstyle, however, was secondary from it’s actual purpose…

 

He firmly pushed away the memory of hands in his hair, tugging brutally. The pain, the smell of chemicals burning, the anguished cries inside his head.

 

His phone rang.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Is this Charles Xavier?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’m calling from the ICU at County General. A Ms. Moira MacTaggert was brought in this morning, you were listed as her emergency contact. I’m sorry to tell you this but-hello? Hello, are you still there?”

 

Charles was already out the door, and in moments he was on his bike, roaring toward the hospital.

 

*

 

Erik swirled the scotch in his tumbler, sitting in the plush study, surrounded by silence. And taxidermy.

 

Olaf Maximoff had just left to deal with a household issue and Erik took the time to think about the mystery that the older man had just lain at his feet.

 

A forty-year-old disappearance ( _a forty-year-old murder_ , his mind whispered). That was why Maximoff had sought him out. According to the older man, he needed someone with a keen investigative mind to go through the facts of a crime that had been perpetrated before Erik had even been born.

 

Maximoff’s niece Magda had disappeared forty years ago during the family’s annual board meeting at the manor home Erik now sat in, isolated on it’s tiny island. There had been an accident on the bridge that connected the island to the mainland, meaning that no one could get in or out, leading Maximoff to declare that it was a member of his own family who had perpetrated the crime. The family patriarch had made it abundantly clear what he thought of his family. “A vile brood of liars, backstabbers, thieves and misers. And a few Nazi’s thrown in for good measure.” Erik couldn’t wait to meet them.

 

What had really caught his interest was that Magda had been a mutant, back in the 60’s when mutants were first making themselves known to society. “I was the only one in the family that she trusted with her secret,” Maximoff had said, “but someone else had to have known. Her ability was nothing extravagant like you see today, she could create small spheres of light. Nothing more than a beautiful party trick…but I believe someone killed her for it.”

 

It was intriguing, of that there was no doubt. This little snowy island that the Maximoffs lived on seemed like the setting of some gothic novel, full of shady characters with shadier secrets. Erik had always had a weakness for the dramatic and this was certainly a mystery fraught with drama.

 

And then, the icing on the cake...

 

Maximoff had mentioned it so casually, every inch the shrewd businessman. He had a past with none other than William Stryker. His tone had suggested that the relationship had not been one that ended on good terms.

 

The chance to gain some kind of incriminating evidence against Stryker…that was a thousand times more tempting than any decaying crime.

 

He would need to come out here, to the remote island, and live in the small guesthouse on the property. For months, probably, possibly a year depending on how quickly it took for Maximoff to give up and accept that Erik would not succeed where he had failed.

 

Well, he didn’t need to worry about missing work, the further he stayed away from M and P until the backlash from his conviction died down, the better. And the solitude would be welcome, he was not a people person by any stretch of the imagination and a few months in this snowy wilderness that seemed so removed form the rest of the world could almost be considered a vacation. _A very well paying vacation_ , there was the settlement he'd had to pay Stryker, after all.

 

Maximoff entered the room and apologized for his absence.

 

“I’ll do it,” Erik said. He usually preferred to cut to the chase. It was what made him such an excellent journalist.

 

*

 

Charles sat in the waiting room, clearly offending every single person in the vicinity with his mere presence. He felt the crush of their thoughts trying to seep in. His shaved head and piercings and the tattoos (the visible ones) made them uncomfortable (there was was notable exception, an intern who fantasized about him fucking her ont he motorcycle she'd seen him ride by on). His blank stare made them pity him as they assumed he was mentally damaged. A few of them knew more about him, had seen his case file, and were trying very deliberately to not think about him – which of course meant that all they could do was think about him and it was like someone shouting his name but _directly into his brain_.

 

One woman was not even hiding her blatant interest. It wasn’t sexual, it wasn’t friendly. She was looking at him the way one might stare at an ugly and dangerous animal at the zoo, and she was thinking-

 

 _fucking freak all mutants are bad but a telepath that’s the worse in our heads they should up his drugs not enough that he can’t control he can still hear he should just be put down we’d all be safer-_

 

“Mr. Xavier?”

 

He looked up slowly, his expression remaining passively hostile. It was his neutral expression.

 

A stunningly beautiful woman all in white was standing in front of an open office door with a file in her hand. She had a smile on her face that looked as though she’d bought it at Tiffany’s and only fixed it on after hours of polishing.

 

He stood and walked past her into the office, took a seat in front of her desk. All of the furniture was sumptuous and expensive, there was not a speck of dust anywhere. Everything was white. Charles did not understand how this woman wasn’t mad from the bleakness of it.

 

 _I enjoy white things. The cleanliness_.

 

Charles looked up, alarmed. The woman was sitting behind the desk, perfectly arranged, every hair in place. He had not picked up that thought unintentionally, she had projected it to him.

 

She smiled once more. It was a rather unsettling picture.

 

“My name is Ms. Frost and you will refer to me as such. And yes, Mr. Xavier, I am also a telepath. It is the reason I have been assigned as your new guardian in light of Ms. MacTaggert’s accident. It is unclear how long it will take her to recover, if she ever does, and it was decided that a swift reassignment would be the best course of action.”

 

Charles said nothing. He thought about Moira, pale and small in the hospital bed. He thought of the unchanging static of her mind, how he'd ached to dive in and find her, rescue the only person who'd ever been kind to him, and he had raged and cursed and felt so incredibly powerless.

 

Frost was still speaking.

 

“I’ve reviewed your file and I have to admit I am very concerned about the…leeway Ms. MacTaggert saw fit to give you.”

 

Charles gazed at her with the same, unchanging blank stare. It usually unnerved people into looking away and leaving him alone, but Frost simply stared right back at him. He could feel her presence hovering at the edges of his mind. He desperately wanted to bat it away but refrained from showing his hand so early. He had no idea how strong she was, if he would be able to throw her off with his abilities…what they now were.

 

“Ms. MacTaggert saw fit to only require that you take the lowest dose of suppressant, which keeps you from directly controlling or influencing minds…but you can still read thoughts. I see that at your last test you were nearing Omega level, I’m sure that you can do much more than read surface thoughts, even with the suppressant.”

 

She was right, and Charles hid this information behind the strongest shields he had.

 

Frost continued.

 

“I can see that all of the progress MacTaggert claims she accomplished with you is either a gross exaggeration or an outright lie. Considering your sullen behavior and appearance you have not made any steps to integrate yourself normally into society. You still rely too much on your telepathy and you have been given too much freedom. For those reasons I will be taking control of your finances, making regular visits to your home…and upping your dosage of suppressant.”

 

Charles bit back the angry snarl and made sure that none of his fury bled out from behind his shield. From the smirk that flashed across Frost’s face he knew that he was at least marginally unsuccessful.

 

He kept his voice even as he spoke. “I do not think that that is necessary. Moira…Ms. MacTaggert trusted me to use my telepathy cautiously and wisely. I am twenty-four years old, I should be in control of my own life.”

 

Calling the position that Frost’s mouth fell into a sneer would be a compliment.

 

 _I think you proved just how much you could_ control _your life when you were 17, Mr. Xavier_.

 

His hands shook. He said nothing, thought nothing.

 

“We’ll see how you do after a few months with the new dosage.” She handed him a slip of paper with the prescription written on it. He did not move to take it.

 

“And if I refuse?”

 

Suddenly, with no warning, there was pain clawing at the inside of his head, pain like he’d never felt before because it was _in his head_. This was not a headache, this was someone wielding the power of their mind as a weapon. It was a cold, sharp pain, like ice scratching at the very surface of his thoughts. Only the fact that he had felt pain much greater and for much longer periods of time kept him from crying out.

 

Frost’s wintry smile remained unchanged, her poise completely unaffected. But he could feel her satisfaction.

 

“I am authorized to use any means necessary to keep you in line. You’re file makes it very clear how unbalanced you are, how dangerous you have proven yourself to be. How dangerous you _were_ , I should say. You may naturally have more power than I but with your abilities suppressed you have no hope of keeping me out. I can make your life very difficult, Mr. Xavier…or I can make it more bearable. The choice is yours.”

 

He almost laughed. As if he has ever had a choice in any of this.

 

He took the prescription.

 

*

 

Erik had just finished packing away the last of his things in the dresser when a knock sounded on the door of his new home. He waddled to the door, the cold making his limbs sluggish. Every window showed the same wintry tabluea, a world awash in ice and snow. When the door was opened he found a nondescript middle-aged man smiling at him.

 

“Well hello there. I’d ask your name but, well, I don’t think there’s a person in the country right now who doesn’t know it.” The man paused for a laugh that didn’t come.

 

“Ah, yes, well…I’m Sebastian Shaw, Olaf’s brother-in-law. He told us all that you’d be staying here, he says you’re helping him write his memoir.”

 

Erik nodded. “Yes. I had the free time and…” he trailed off, realizing he didn’t owe this man an explanation. “Would you like to come in?” He had never been good at the intricacies of basic social interaction and politeness was not one of his strong suits, but he figured having a conversation with the door open when the temperature was flirting with below zero was just not done.

 

He let Shaw in and busied himself making coffee. They sat together as the man gave Erik a few tips about his new home. “The heat takes a while to get going but you should be fine after a few hours.” After a few hours Erik was sure he would be far from fine, closer to hypothermic, but said nothing. Chitchat was also beyond him.

 

Shaw set down his cup and fixed him with a level gaze. “Now, I don’t care what Olaf says, I have a feeling that your job is not writing an old man’s memoirs, not someone with your background. You’re here about Magda, aren’t you?”

 

Erik didn’t say anything for a moment, choosing instead to extract a cigarette from the pack he’d bought on the way out of the city and light it. After a few pulls he gave a faint nod. “Yes, Olaf did ask me to see if I could uncover any new evidence about Magda’s disappearance.”

 

Shaw smiled. It wasn’t entirely a pleasant thing. “Good luck, my friend. I love Olaf dearly but…over the years his desire to understand an incomprehensible mystery has become somewhat of an obsession. Maybe this will help him. Once someone with fresh eyes takes a look and still can’t make sense of the thing he can finally give up the ghost and move on. I fear Olaf doesn’t have many years left, I would hate to see him spend the time he has left obsessing over Magda.”

 

Erik flicked ash into the ashtray he’d unearthed in a cupboard. “Did you know Magda?” he asked.

 

Shaw smiled sadly. “Not well, I’m afraid. I married her aunt when she was little more than a child and I was away often doing business for Olaf, visiting factories and such. I had only spoken to her a handful of times before she disappeared.”

 

Erik narrowed his eyes. “Were you there the day she disappeared?”

 

Shaw’s smile grew wider and he took a sip of his coffee before answering. “Making your suspect list already?”

 

At Erik’s lack of response he went on. “Alas I was not on the island the day that Madga disappeared. I had come into town for the board meeting just as the accident happened on the bridge. It was late by the time they cleared it so the meeting was pushed back to the next day and I stayed in a hotel in town. I assure you, Olaf knows all of this, my innocence was proven sufficiently by the case’s original investigators.”

 

They drank the rest of their coffee, trading idle chitchat. Shaw filled Erik in on the subtleties of the relationships in the Maximoff clan, who hated who and such. It took quite some time.

 

Finally Shaw stood up to go. He was almost out the door when he turned back.

 

“I had almost forgotten to ask, Erik-may I call you Erik?”

 

Erik would rather he didn’t but he wanted the man gone, so he nodded.

 

“It would be a bit redundant to ask whether or not you’re a mutant. What exactly is your ability? I’m always intrigued by the many variations found in nature.”

 

It wasn’t such a personal question in the current social climate, no more intrusive than asking what someone’s hobbies were, But Erik hackles were still raised and he could not figure out why. Maybe it was the glint in Shaw’s eyes, the naked curiosity. It felt…off.

 

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I can sense and manipulate metal and magnetic fields.” He floated the tray with the debris of their coffee on it to the sink with barely a thought.

 

Hours after Shaw left, Erik was still deeply unsettled by the naked envy and calculation that had flashed in Shaw’s gaze after his demonstration.

 

*

 

Charles was aware of the presence moments before the sharp rapping on his door, alerted by the feeling of a mind searching for his, attempting to make entry. He slammed his shields up and felt the icy tendrils of thought hovering just outside them.

 

When he opened the door there Frost stood, immaculate in a white sheath dress and white stilettos on her feet, her equally white fur coat the only concession to the frigid temperature. He had a brief, mad impulse to spill something on her.

 

“May I come in, Mr. Xavier?” The question was phrased in such a way that it was clearly not a request, merely a formality.

 

He waited a moment, then stood aside and let her pass.

 

He felt her disdain at the sight of his apartment. Every surface was filled with clutter: empty takeout containers, ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts, books and photos scattered over tables, shelves and even the floor. She made no move to take off her coat and sit.

 

He refused to be intimidated by her in his own home and sat in his leather armchair.

 

“I’ve come to administer your weekly dose of suppressant. I called the pharmacy and you never filled your prescription.”

 

“I haven’t had time. I have been busy with work.”

 

Frost walked to the window and gazed down at the street. “Ah yes, your job at the security company. If you were anyone else I’d say it was admirable that you found a position that so wonderfully matched your skill set, digging through other people’s lives and uncovering their secrets for money. But considering your history I think it’s reprehensible that you haven’t learned your lesson about poking about where you don’t belong.”

 

He fought the urge to bite out a caustic reply out “poking about where you don’t belong”. He would not rise to her baiting.

 

Charles lit a cigarette. Frost turned at the sound of the lighter, her eyes narrowed.

 

“Put that out, Mr. Xavier. It’s a filthy habit.”

 

He blew a perfect ring of smoke in her direction.

 

He had no warning before the pain ripped into his head. He fought it valiantly for a few moments before giving in. The suppressant made his ability to fight her off almost nonexistent.

 

 _I said PUT IT OUT._

 

He struggled. It felt like trying to keep a dam closed against a tidal wave. They were both perfectly still. Ash fell from the cigarette.

 

Frost’s blank expression shifted, that smile curling onto her face.

 

“It seems you need a lesson, Mr. Xavier. For your benefit, of course. Smoking is such a nasty habit, you should give it up before you endanger your health any farther. Besides, you never know what kind of accident you might have. Now-“

 

 _PUT. IT. OUT_.

 

He couldn’t hold her off anymore and he watched in horror as his hand moved without his permission, firmly under Frost’s control. But the hand didn’t move to stub the cigarette out into the ashtray. Instead his other arm raised and he watched as his own hand ground the burning cigarette out.

 

On his own forearm.

 

The only thing keeping him from screaming in agony was the hold Frost had on his mind. He could feel her sick satisfaction at the pain rattling in his head. Her smile stayed firmly fixed on her face as he fought tears.

 

He summoned up every last ounce of mental strength he had and threw off her mind, following the icy tendrils of thought back to their source. He would rip into her mind, tear every thought she had ever had to shreds and leave her with nothing. She would be a mindless drone for the rest of her life.

 

And as soon as his mind touched hers she shifted, turning into a living statue of _fucking crystal_. Where her thoughts had been moments before there was only a clear, shining mirror, utterly impenetrable.

 

He tried again, fighting through the pain, but could not get past whatever it was she had become.

 

 _Don’t bother, Mr. Xavier. You’ll never get in while I’m like this_.

 

He was breathing hard, trying to ignore the agony in his arm.

 

She moved closer, the light glinting off of the facets in her crystal form.

 

 _I am trying my hardest to be patient with you, Mr. Xavier, but it seems you need a firmer hand. You will learn to follow my orders and don’t think that it ends with physical pain. That is nothing compared to what I can do to you_.

 

He cried out as she slammed back into his mind, the wintry claws of her power tearing into his thoughts and memories. He felt her glee at the heady rush of power it gave her. She knew how much stronger he was (had been), she was getting a high knowing that he was so diminished, that she could do anything to him and he had no way to stop her.

 

She was unearthing memories he’d long buried, memories he hadn’t thought to protect because he’d ever met another telepath strong enough to invade his defenses. She seemed to know exactly what to look for, following his pain and anger and despair to the darkest corners of his mind.

 

As she found each new memory she made him relive it. Again he had to experience the grief at his father’s death, the feeling of his step-brother’s fists as they pounded his flesh. There was his mother, slowly wasting away as she drank herself to death, the alcohol numbing the pain of her own shattered dreams and the disappointment of her freak son. And then-

 

 _NO NO nononononononononono please ANYTHING but that please no don’t I can’t-_

And he was back in Kurt’s lab. The electrodes were attached to his temples and the pain was unimaginable. Electricity was tearing through his brain and he could hear _everything_ , every thought within a hundred miles and it was too much, it had to stop, he’d do anything to make it stop and he reached out to the closest mind and his will reared up like a hurricane of power and something smashed and suddenly the smell of chemicals permeated the air. There was heat and flickering fire and screams that weren’t his. The smoke was choking him and he’d never get out of here, he would die here alone with his captor and his terror.

 

He could faintly hear the sound of tinkling laughter in the background as the memory played over and over again, a nightmare from which he’d never wake.

 

The memories faded for a moment as Frost spoke into his mind.

 

 _This is just a taste, Xavier. I can leave you trapped in your worst memories for days, weeks at a time. I could leave you reliving them for the rest of your life. I so enjoy breaking headstrong young mutants like you, it’s almost it’s own reward…almost. You WILL give me what I want._

For a brief moment he saw what it was that she wanted, her intentions flashed through his mind and he fought the urge to vomit. And then he saw something else…yes, there it was, if he followed her power back he could see the chinks in her crystal armor, in blind desperation he sent a suggestion, wrapped in as much protection as he could, not sure if it made it's way in. He pushed harder, a moment more and he might get fully through-

 

He reeled back as the pain creschendoed in a spike of unbelievable torment. It was like an explosion in his mind. He thought he would die just to escape it.

 

 _I will leave now, and you will spend the rest of the day in these memories. I hope that on our next visit you prove more…agreeable_.

 

He didn’t hear the sound of her heels clicking on the floor, nor did he hear the door closing. His own screams were too loud, despite the fact that they were echoing only inside his head.

 

When at last the memories faded he pulled himself up off of the floor, wiping the dried vomit from his cheek. He pulled himself up into the chair with lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. He went back over the afternoon and thought about what had happened, but more importantly about what had _not_ happened.

 

He let out a breath, the smoke curling around his head in faint blue tendrils as he began to plan his revenge.

 

*

 

The first few days on the island were spent familiarizing himself with the grounds and the family that inhabited them. The Maximoff’s were many, and the intricacies of their relationship were hard to grasp, even with the insight supplied by Olaf and Shaw.

 

Once he felt that he had the family tree squared away he went through every police report, every photograph, as well as all of the notes Olaf had made over the years. The notes alone took almost three days.

 

One morning he found Olaf at his door.

 

“Erik, my fine man. I was hoping you’d take a walk with me.”

 

Erik shivered against the icy breeze. “A walk? It has to be ten below, I think I’d prefer to stay inside if it’s all the same to you.”

 

Olaf chuckled. “it is a walk with a purpose, my friend. I’d like to show you the house where Magda lived. It has been uninhabited for some time, since Magda’s father passed and her mother moved to a house closer to the manor, but you may find it helpful to take a look through some of Magda’s things. Her room was kept as she left it, per my request.”

 

And so they set out. There was not a cloud in the sky and the sun shone down, harsh and unrelenting. They walked slowly, Olaf leaning over a cane. It was so absolutely freezing that, despite the many layers he wore under his coat, Erik was almost numb from the cold. He hoped that the house had working heat.

 

This hope was in vain. Even from the outside it was easy to tell that this home hadn’t been lived in for quite some time, the windows were boarded over and the skeletons of overgrown trees littered the yard. Erik helped Olaf up the steps and the older man fished out a key ring with dozens of keys on it, his hands trembling slightly. Erik wasn’t sure if this was from the temperature or the memories that this house dredged up.

 

Once they were inside Olaf sat down on the musty couch. “Her bedroom is upstairs, make a right at the top of the steps.”

 

“You won’t come?”

 

Maximoff looked at the walls with their peeling floral wallpaper. “No, I…the stairs are rather steep, and…well…”

 

Erik knew that it must be hard, considering how much Olaf had loved his niece, to look at such concrete evidence that she was gone, never to return. His assumption to the real reason Olaf would not enter the room was reinforced when he saw it.

 

It was shrine. It looked exactly the same as it had in the police photos. A thick layer of dust sat over everything and Erik thought he heard the scurrying of mice. He looked through the photos in their frames, the Beatles posters on the walls. He crossed to the opposite side of the room and investigated the bookshelf. A fair mix of classic novels and cheap paperback romances, exactly what one would expect in the room of a bright young girl in the 60s.

 

One book in particular caught his eye. It was slim, with no title on the spine. He pulled it out and opened it, the stiff leather creaking in protest.

It was a diary. He spent several moments reading through it. Magda wrote about boys she had fancied, books she had enjoyed, trips she had taken with her family. She wrote of her excitement at reading news articles about mutants and her terror that someone in her family would find out her secret, someone who wouldn’t be as understanding as her dear uncle Olaf. He read and read and was about to give the whole thing up when he came to a page that was blank but for two words written on it.

 

 _Schmidtt – Auschwitz_

Who was Schmidtt and what did he have to do with the Holocaust’s most terrifying death camp?

 

*

 

Charles had a few hours warning for the next visit and he was prepared. He felt Frost’s presence as her car sidled up to his block, felt her annoyance at the lack of parking spaces and her satisfaction as she took control of a mind, forcing it to move the car it was in and make space for her own. How pedestrian.

 

Charles did his best to look meek and cowed when he answered the door.

 

“Hello, Mr. Xavier. Are we in a more agreeable mood today?”

 

She didn’t wait for him to answer, flitting quickly and painfully into his mind. He made sure to only let her see what he knew she’d like, the lingering psychic pain from her attack, the (fabricated) defeat and acceptance. He could feel her going deeper, searching for the details of his state of mind, his intentions.

 

Exactly as he’d expected she would.

 

It was much easier when she was already in his mind. He caught her within his will, caged her quickly in the grasp of his power and watched with satisfaction as her eyes widened, her face contorting with shock and pain. He forced her into unconsciousness quickly, before she could fight back or change into that damned diamond form. She slumped to the floor, but he caught her in time. It wouldn;t do to have her head crack against the wood, she'd miss all the fun

 

He quickly retrieved the ropes he’d purchased earlier that week and trussed her up. He might be able to hold her in place with his mind but he'd rather not expend the effor when he had so much else to do and besides, she needed a little pain to make up for the cigarette burn that was still healing on his arm.

 

Once he had her secure he dove back into her unconscious mind, careful to do so swiftly and stealthily. It was possible that, despite his mental command, too much commotion in her mind could wake her. He sought what he was looking for quickly and efficiently and pressed down softly, twisting and… _there_.

 

He made himself a cup of coffee and was starting to sip it when he jostled Frost’s mind back into consciousness. He smiled at her look of confusion and the smile grew impossibly wider as he saw the terror and understanding start to spark on her face.

 

“Did you know that there is a spot in the mind of a mutant, something that is almost a muscle but just a tad too mental to be called such, that control’s that mutant’s ability to use their power?”

 

Frost snarled. “There is no such thing. You’ve just dosed me with suppressant. Release me now and the consequences may be alleviated…slightly.”

 

He was almost impressed by how icy and sure she managed to sound. But he could hear the tension in her voice. She was barely holding it together. She was frightened. Good. She very much had reason to be.

 

“I assure you that there is. I have disabled yours.”

 

Frost let out what could generously be called a whimper, but was in reality more like a squeak. Her fear was… _delicious_. It was filling the room.

 

He lit a cigarette and smoked it casually for a few moments, sipping his coffee occasionally. Then he stood. He loved the way her eyes followed him, the heady rush of power knowing that she was completely at his mercy. It felt so good to be in control.

 

“When we first met I thought you were simply a stuck up bitch with a bit of power envy. I thought maybe you’d just get off on seeing me suppressed, feeling superior by comparison. And then you went into my head last time and I saw what you _really_ wanted. Let me tell you, Ms. Frost, it wouldn’t have worked.”

 

Frost believed that she could, somehow, drain him slowly of psionic energy and thus bolster her own power. There were mutants who had a such an ability but Frost, who did not, would have failed spectacularly, most likely killing him in the process.

 

“You should have waited to show your hand, Ms. Frost. You were so hasty in your desire to see me in pain that you forgot something at our last meeting. You never gave me my new, upped dose of suppressant. I managed to get a command through your shields without you realizing.”

 

Frost’s expression did not change; she had probably already worked that out for herself. He could give her credit for retaining her composure…but he wouldn’t. He walked towards her and flicked his cigarette, delighted as he watched the ash scatter over her immaculate white outfit.

 

“Now that the balance of power has shifted, I’m going to tell you how we will proceed from here on. I will no longer see you for appointments at your office, and you will no longer come to my apartment. You will instead write reports that entail how there is no further reason for secluded visits, we are now going out for coffee and museum trips, taking walks around the park. I don’t really care what you say as long as it’s believable. You will explain that I am opening up, integrating myself into society. You will explain that you are gradually lowering my dose of suppressant, and in…ten months, you will conclude that I am able to live without it, you will say how confident you are that I will use my abilities wisely. Nod if you understand me.”

 

Frost snarled. “Fuck you, you self righteous little prick. If you think for-“

 

And she stopped as she let out a wail of pain. People tend to scream when you put out a cigarette on their neck.

 

He silenced her quickly, shutting down her ability to speak. Tears were flowing down her cheeks in earnest and he resisted the mad urge to lick one.

 

He checked to see if anyone nearby had heard the scream. His upstairs neighbor had and Charles smoothed over the memory until it was gone.

 

Charles looked back into Frost’s eyes. They were burning with rage.

 

“Now I will ask you again, nod if you understand me.”

 

She tipped her head.

 

“Good. Of course, I will not be leaving any of this up to chance. You very well may find some way to get around my instructions, no matter how deeply I implant them in your mind. You are a rather formidable telepath and I cannot take any risks. So I will be rewriting your personality.” He said it casually, as one would say _I’m going to grab you a cup of coffee_ or _I’m thinking of taking a vacation next month_.

 

First there was disbeliefn denial. It slowly became horror when Frost saw that Charles was completely serious.

 

“You said at our first meeting that I tested at near Omega level. From my own experiments, before I started taking suppressant, I am well beyond Omega. I have yet to encounter a telepath stronger than I am. I assure you, Ms. Frost, once I have implemented my changes you will _never_ overcome them. No other telepath will ever even be able to identify that any tampering has taken place.”

 

Frost was crying in earnest now.

 

“Don’t look so upset. You are getting off much easier than you could have. I am going to turn you into a kind, respectable woman who wants nothing more than to help every charge in her care, no matter what it takes. I will also be suppressing your ability so that from now on you will do nothing more than read surface thoughts for the rest of your life.”

 

Frost was shuddering, he was sure she’s be screaming and sobbing if he hadn’t taken her voice.

 

He straddled her hips and brought his hands to her temples. She struggled until he sent out a command to calm and every muscle went limp. Her eyes gazed into his, completely empty.

 

He then began the task of constructing the new Emma Frost.

 

When he was finished he sent Frost home. She gathered her things and left, her motions jerky and perfunctory. He released his hold on her mind when finally reached her home at the other end of the city.

 

Only then did he realize that he was shaking. He had not strained his abilities this much in…years. The suppressant was not completely out of his system and what he had done was extremely complex. Not only had he completely rewritten someone’s personality but it had been that of another telepath. He was barely able to make it to his bed before he lost his grasp on consciousness and sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter second chapter than i had planned, but I wanted to get something out and besides, Erik and Charles finally meeting seemed to merit it's own chapter. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, I love reading your comments, keep em coming!!

 

 

The fire in the study was doing wonders for his frozen extremities, and the glass full of aged scotch was warming up his insides as well. Erik allowed himself a moment to relax and enjoy the comfort. He felt as though he could not properly remember what it was to be warm. A few more sips and he was ready to share what he’d found.

 

“The entry I found in Magda’s diary…I looked through the original case file and the investigative team noted it but never made sense of it. I suppose they didn’t think it was important. It…well, it’s the only thing I’ve found that seems off, that bears further scrutiny. That and one other thing…”

 

He set the photos he’d been holding down on the table and Olaf picked it up. They were photographs taken at the parade that had occurred on the mainland the day Magda had disappeared. Erik had known, thanks to Maximoff’s detailed account of the day, that Magda had attended the parade. There were a few photos included in the case file that showed her, a blurry figure in a white dress, blonde hair shining in the sun.

 

Erik had visited the local paper and searched their archives for original prints and photographs, finally finding a series from the parade that had captured Magda in greater detail. When he’d gotten the images scanned onto his computer and gone through them in sequence, something very striking had been apparent.

 

In the first few photos Magda stood, watching the parade with her cousin and friends, looking at ease. Then her attention was caught by something almost directly behind or to the side of the person who had taken the photograph. Her expression shifted completely from one photo to the next, becoming absolutely terrified. In the next shot she was turning away, and in a few more she was gone.

 

Olaf exhaled a pained sigh. He seemed to have reached the same conclusion Erik had.

 

“This…she saw something, or someone. She looks absolutely terrified. Erik…I don’t know how they missed this. But how does this help? How can you connect this to the rest of it?”

 

Erik looked down at the photograph of Magda’s terrified face. She was such a lovely young girl, with her whole life stretched out before her…until it had been snatched away.

 

Erik started gathering the photographs and sorting them back into order. “I confess that I am a bit inundated with material at the moment. I think I could use a research assistant. There is simply too much for me to work through on my own. I need another pair of eyes to pick up what I may be missing. _M and P_ has a few interns who would do well but I’m not sure that the magazine can spare them…”

 

Olaf looked pensive for a moment, and then said, “I believe I may have someone. A very gifted, if slightly…unconventional young man.”

 

Unconventional was good, unconventional meant thinking outside the box, the way that Erik did, meant approaching this a different way than everyone else who had tried to solve this case and failed.

 

“He is, in fact, the young man who did the background check on you.”

 

A beat.

 

“On _me_?”

 

*

 

It took a few moments for him to realize that the pounding wasn’t only inside his head. Someone was knocking on the door of his apartment.

 

Charles rolled over, displacing himself from the muscled chest he’d been sleeping on. He was almost at full power again and his mind snapped to compolete awareness as soon as he willed, despite his overindulgence the night before.

 

He sat up and stretched, looking at the man still sleeping beside him. He’d met Darwin months and they’d engaged in rather spectacular sex every few weeks since then. It was amazing how the other man’s body would adapt to each new position. Their sex was wildly acrobatic and incredibly satisfying, and Darwin always stayed the night and indulged Charles’ secret weakness: cuddling.

 

Climbing out of bed and slipping into a pair of underwear, Charles sent a wave of awareness out to the door and almost gasped in shock.

 

What the actual fuck was _Erik fucking Lehnsherr_ doing at his apartment?

 

He slipped into Lehnsherr’s mind to find the reason behind his visit. How had he found Charles, what did he know, what was he looking for? He got images of a snowy island dotted with houses, a pretty blonde girl in an aging photograph, a kind-eyed old man sitting by a fire in a luxurious study-

 

 _Could you please open the door, Mr. Xavier?_

His first instinct was to attack, but then he remembered that Lehnsherr had no telepathic ability, but must have felt a presence in his mind and deduced that it was him. Charles must have been too heavy handed in his search, deliberately ruffling memories, the mental equivalent of walking into someone’s apartment while they were sleeping and turning on all of the lights.

 

Charles stood, indecisive. He was curious as to why Lehnsherr was here, he was curious about Lehnsherr himself. The man had intrigued him when he’d been investigating him and here he was, right on his doorstep. Caution warred with the curiosity. Lehnsherr was powerful, dangerous. But Charles was fairly confident hat he could subdue the other mutant before he could harm Charles, even with the other man’s considerable abilities.

 

Curiosity won out, as it usually did with Charles.

 

He opened the door.

 

Erik Lehnsherr was a handsome bastard. Charles knew this, had spent two weeks following Lehnsherr, noting his every move. But that was different than having the man standing right in front of him, looking sinfully handsome in a black wool coat, his hair mussed by the wind, eyes bright and sharp. He was holding a tray carrying two large coffees and a paper bag with some appealing looking grease stains that made Charles’ mouth water and his stomach, accustomed as it was to frozen dinners and bad take out, rumble in anticipation .

 

Lehnsherr did not wait to be invited in. He breezed past Charles and set down his cargo at the tiny kitchen table. Lehnsherr removed his coat and Charles took in the taunt lines of his body, tantalizingly displayed by the wool sweater that clung to them.

 

A throat cleared from the direction of the bedroom.

 

“Charles?” it was Armando, pants haphazardly pulled on, skin deliciously chocolate-colored in the bright morning light.

 

Erik sat down at the table and, without even glancing in Darwin’s direction, said, “Charles, kindly ask your…friend to leave. We have things to discuss. I brought you breakfast.”

 

Charles stared at him, wide eyed. He turned to meet Darwin’s disbelieving gaze.

 

 _It’s alright, Armando, I’ll be fine, you can go._

 _But Charles, isn’t that Erik Lehnsherr? Let me stay, I want to make sure-_

Charles cut him off with a swift but gentle mental command, followed by a suggestion to dress quickly. He very pointedly gave him a rather drawn out goodbye kiss, which was almost entirely for the benefit of his guest. He was rather put out that it didn’t make Lehnsherr uncomfortable, but the pike of arousal he felt…well, he’d think about that later.

 

Charles sat in the chair across from Lehnsherr and lit a cigarette. The apartment smelt like microwavable pizza, burnt coffee, cigarettes and sex. Lehnsherr, remarkably, felt quite at home in the squalor. A passing thought about his university dorm room, disdain for his own artfully modern apartment, why had he let Raven decorate-

 

“What do you want, Mr. Lehnsherr?”

 

Lehnsherr smiled, a wide grin full of teeth that would’ve been better suited on an animal about to devour it’s prey.

 

“You’re very direct. Thank god. I have almost no tolerance for beating around the bush. As you may be aware from poking about in my head, I am currently employed by a man named Olaf Maximoff, I believe the two of you are acquainted. He recently revealed to me that you did a bit of research for him. Research that involved invading my privacy as well as and my mind.”

 

Did Lehnsherr expect him to blush, to lie, to aplogize? He took another drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke in Lehnsherr’s face. That fierce grin only grew wider.

 

Lehnsherr reached into the satchel he’d carried in on his shoulder and pulled out a folder. Charles couldn’t help but stare at his hands. They were large, with beautifully tapered fingers. Charles imagined them on him, in him, and had to suppress a shiver. Now was not the time.

 

The file was full of photos, all of them of the blonde girl he’d seen in Lehnsherr’s mind. Charles set down his cigarette in the ashtray and picked up the photos, each one burned into his memory the moment he glanced at it. He licked his lips and felt a flare of heat from across the table. As unobtrusively as possible, he dipped into Lehnsherr’s mind, his gaze staying trained on the photos in his hands. The other man was staring at his lips, and then his eyes were roving over Charles’ chest, eyes catching on the pert nipples, tightened by the cold. He was looking at Charles’ tattoos and imagining what it would be like to slide his tongue along them. He wondered what noises Charles would make…

 

 _Are you here for my help or are you here to fuck me?_

 

Lehnsherr’s gaze snapped to his. Charles waited for the embarrassment, the red cheeks and denials. Instead, Lehnsherr licked his lips and arched an eyebrow, contemplative.

 

 _For now…your help._

 

Charles suppressed another shiver. This would certainly be interesting.

 

Since Lehnsherr didn’t seem to mind having his thoughts examined, Charles dug through his mind for the details he needed. Magda Maximoff…murder…the island… _mutants_.

 

 _Yes, Charles. I want you to help me catch a killer of mutants._

 

Charles pondered it for a moment. He thought about fire, pain like none other tearing through his head. Unbidden, the memory of Frost’s voice. “ _I so enjoy breaking headstrong young mutants like you…”_

 _“Yes. I’ll help you.”_

 __Charles took one of the cups of coffee and stood, crossing to his bedroom in search of clothes and his computer. He smirked to himself as Lehnsherr stared at his ass as he walked away._ _

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? I'd love to hear them.


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